


Darkness Inescapable

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It reminds me of Númenor . . . of the land of Westernesse that foundered.  And of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness inescapable.</i> -- Faramir, <i>Return of the King</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Inescapable

Only in Andustar did any still speak of Tar-Míriel the Queen. The most sympathetic, and fearless, of the nobles murmured "poor Zimraphel," and could not bring themselves to meet her unwavering grey eyes. Some remembered the pain that had shot through them when they had tried to deceive the young princess, long ago. Sauron, or Annatar as he called himself now, always murmured an ostensibly respectful "Ar-Zimraphel" when he met with her; it was not often. He could not know her thoughts and he hated her for it.

Pharazôn -- she would not add the royal prefix in her mind -- was fond of her, in his way. He had been a little afraid of the young Míriel, for he, too, remembered quailing before the silver fire of her gaze, but it was impossible to fear the tranquil ethereal Zimraphel. She seemed like gossamer, a creature of shadow and a few delicate strands of silk. They were one, the King and Queen of Númenor -- and he was that one. The placidity, detachment, even absent-mindedness, was almost endearing. In mocking deference to her preference for Sindarin, he called her Emerwen.

Míriel bitterly thought even Zimraphel preferable to that.

As a mark of his favour, he allowed her a page -- a boy from Andúnië, cousin to the Lord, named Eärendur. She might have thought it too grand a name for such a slight, small creature, pale with a smattering of dark freckles across his straight nose, but she had a full measure of the foresight of her kin and knew that he would be a tall man capable of great deeds, if he lived to see that day. His passion for the sea amused her, but the longing that passed over his face as he looked west did not. The sea-longing was not solely the province of the Elves, and although it was the one curse which she had escaped, she knew that look well enough. His parents had been of the line of Tindómiel, and undoubtedly knew what they were about when they named him.

The first time she sent news to Amandil of Pharazôn's doings, she never dreamt she would survive. Her husband had forfeited the gifts of their people, however, except the long life he craved to make even longer. He knew neither her mind nor Eärendur's. When the time came, she sent her last companion to his own people. "Promise -- promise me," she said, and Eärendur, a boy of thirteen, looked at her with solemn dark eyes and swore that he and all who came after him would remain faithful, and fight beyond hope. Then he went to the ships, to cross the sea and someday dwell in rolling hills by the water.

Míriel in despair fled the palace, the stones of the Meneltarma hard against her bare feet, hair whipping around her face as the winds increased --

 _"A Eru Ilúvatar,"_ she cried, and when the waters came, her blood sang in her veins at the promise of deliverance. Pharazôn had not kept the old practices because he did not understand them. He could enjoy the sufferings of an eternity, but she knew -- she slowly turned her pale face west, towards those she had honoured in secret for so long, and her dry lips moved in memory and bone-deep comprehension.

 _"Nai fealmar entuluvar lenna!"_ What was the rest? She could not remember.

As the waters washed over her, the last words swam into her mind. . . . _An i anna cuileva ar i anna nuruva._

#

 _Fern i Rîs._

The Steward of Gondor sat upright, gasping for air.

"Faramir?" his wife murmured, pushing her fair hair out of her eyes. "What is it?"

The scattered images came together, and he shut his eyes. "Water," he said, then: "Númenor."

She clasped his hand. There was nothing much to be said when the dreams came. Sometimes the reason was clear; at others they could only guess. After a moment, she said, "I have been reading histories of your people, to find a suitable name."

He struggled back to the present. It almost seemed the water was still filling his lungs. "I would prefer to avoid Nienor," he managed.

"What do you think about Míriel?"

**Author's Note:**

> (1) _Emerwen_ : shepherdess (Sindarin)
> 
> (2) _Eärendur_ : sea-lover, devoted to the sea (Quenya)
> 
> (3) _Tindómiel_ : the only daughter of Elros, and first cousin to Arwen Undómiel.
> 
> (4) _Nai fealmar entuluvar lenna_ : may our souls return to thee! (Quenya)
> 
> (5) _An i anna cuileva ar i anna nuruva_ = for the gift of life and the gift of death (Quenya)
> 
> (6) _Fern i Rîs_ : the Queen is dead (Sindarin)


End file.
